Take Care
by xXThePrincessXx
Summary: A couple of different looks at what it means to take care of yourself. Rated T for some blood


_Hello again! I've been obsessing over Avengers lately and this is the product of the obsession. It's a bit random but I hope you like it! _

_I don't own Marvel, or Avengers, or Thor, or anything. I'm poor. _

_Enjoy!_

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The aroma of the meal filled up the kitchen. She tipped the plate of chopped peppers, mushrooms, and other assorted veggies into the pan waiting on the stovetop, flicking the pan expertly a couple of times before moving back to the cutting board. She moved around the kitchen with poise and an ease that suggested this was second nature. She began cutting onions, her hands confident as the onion came apart beneath her knife. Suddenly she yelped, the knife clattering to cutting board, blood dripping from the blade. She was biting her lip and cradling one of her hands while peering at the wound closely. She turned toward the sink to rinse her hand, but a pair of larger hands stopped her. They carefully took her hands and pulled them apart, one large finger trailing along the back of her hand as a sort of question. He pulled her gently to the table nearby, still cradling her hands. He pulled out a chair for her and gestured for her to sit, maintaining a hold on her injured hand the entire time. She looked up at him quietly, a slight wrinkle in her brow. He squatted in front of her, his face level with her. He tsked at her, his voice low.

"You can hardly take care of yourself." She frowned at his statement, her face snapping up to contradict him. But his expression was warm, the trace of a smile upon his lips. It had been a joke, the gentle prodding she had slowly grown accustomed to. He traced his thumb across the back of her hand again before standing and going to a cupboard to collect medical supplies to tend to her hand. He looked up once, while running a clean, white towel under some cold water for her hand. It was like he was checking to make sure she was still in one piece, his expression almost concerned. He returned to the table, lightly taking her hand in his again. He pressed the cold cloth to her hand, his eyes flicking over her face for any ounce of pain. Her expression never changed as she studied his sturdy fingers unwrapping a Band-Aid and softly pressing it to her skin. Then they expertly wrapped some medical tape around her hand, locking the bandage in place. He gingerly squeezed her hand as if testing its strength. She returned her gaze to his face, finding his blue eyes intent on her already. He brought her hand to his face and pressed a kiss into her knuckles. His blonde scruff tickled her skin at contact. He then stood and walked from the kitchen, leaving her to watch his retreating back.

He stumbled through the hallway, a hand clutching his side, blood dripping between his fingers. He started to slide sideways, his shoulder catching on the wall with a thud. He paused there, breathing heavily. His arm was numb with pain and Mjolnir fell from his grasp, cracks fanning out beneath it in the floor. He gathered his strength and tried to move forward but the lights came on in the hallway, illuminating the scene. She stood at the hallway's end, a sweatshirt thrown on haphazardly over the clothes she was sleeping in, her hair a mess. But her face was focused, her gaze racking over him, assessing the damage. She frowned and padded forward, her gaze lingering on the hand pressed to his side, before searching his face. She brushed some of his blonde hair away from his face, cupping his cheek.

"You can hardly take care of yourself." She breathed, taking his arm and pulling him from the hallway. She sat him down in a chair in her living room, quietly asking that he remove his armor and shirt so she could get a better look at his injuries before she disappeared into the darkness. When she returned, her hair was pulled back in a bun and she was armed with bandages, alcohol to clean the wounds, and a needle and thread. Her cool fingertips brushed along his skin, carefully poking and prodding to find the pain. She set to work cleaning the gash that ran along his shoulder blade first, sewing it shut as quickly as possible. He rolled his shoulder, testing its movement as she lifted up his arm to get a better look at the damage to his side. She looked up at him, a question in her gaze. He gave a miniscule nod before she began to pry his bloodied fingers from beneath his ribs. Blood oozed from the injury as the pressure of his hand was removed and he hissed slightly when the air came in to contact with it. She set to work quickly, the sting of alcohol immediately followed by the tug of thread through his skin. She cleaned the remaining cuts and scrapes in short order and wrapped them in bandages when they had all been tended to. When she finally sat back, the frown was still in place, mixed with concern.

"If you can hardly take care of yourself, how are you supposed to take care of him?" Her question hung in the air. They locked gazes and stared at each other for a while. He was the first to stir, sitting forward and tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

"Let me worry about that." The low rumble of his voice lent a finality to the subject. He tipped her head face forward and kissed her forehead, closing his eyes against his own uncertainty.


End file.
